


ripe and ruin

by l_cloudy



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Brainwashing, Dom/sub, Emotional Manipulation, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Hux is Not Nice, Light Sadism, M/M, Master/Pet, Mindfuck, Muzzles, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Relationship of Convenience, Submissive Kylo Ren, Tasteful Fuckery, this fic can be best described as filthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6720511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_cloudy/pseuds/l_cloudy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, Ren,” Hux drawls. “You poor beast.” He trails his fingers along those dark curls, making Ren whine low in his throat. “Whatever shall I do with you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	ripe and ruin

**Author's Note:**

> Hi new fandom! *knocks on the door with 10k of depraved fluffy mindfuck*  
> Just FYI, this story is saved as That_Filth.docx on my hard drive, and someone in the comments described it as 'esquisitely tasteful fuckery' (which is very flattering tbh) so keep both of these in mind and maybe consider checking the endnote warnings if you feel that's necessary.
> 
> Happy reading, y'all!

He finds Snoke’s pet in a forgotten corner of the Supreme Leader’s base, curled up and trembling on a thin cot in a room that’s barely more than a cell.

Snoke himself has been dead for two days now, and Hux is relishing in the pleasure of strolling around the fortress knowing that now it’s all _his_ , claiming as many of the Supreme Leader’s possessions as he likes and leaving the rest to be consumed in fire when he inevitably burns this place to the ground. He’s thinking it would be fitting to blast it off as they leave, so that red fire is the last thing he sees of Snoke’s domain before flying away to the black of space.

Truly, it is all a spectacular coincidence. As a rule, Hux makes good use of his men, efficient to the core, and this is why he’s alone on his victory stroll – he sees no use for a detail of guards he’s going to have to send off to reconditioning the moment they happen to see something that wasn’t meant for their eyes, as they surely would do. That, and he does appreciate not having to perform for an audience for once.

Thus, he takes no escort. Hux is alone in the desert fortress, his solitary footsteps echoing in dimly-lit corridors that are just as awful looking as the rest of this architectural monstrosity, and he’s about ten minutes away from turning on his heels and having the entire ugly place destroyed – and Kylo Ren along with it, as it happens. It is lucky, then, that he finds him first.

He’s passing in front of a grey door, dull and unsightly as everything else in the fortress, when he hears it – a distant keening, low and desperate. It’s quick work to slip his vibro-blade between the door and the wall; high on victory, he doesn’t even think that whatever’s on the other side could be dangerous, and by the time his eyes meet Ren’s feral gaze, it’s too late.

Hux’s first instinct is to recoil in fear. He hasn’t seen Ren since Starkiller, over two years ago, and while there have been plenty of rumours of Snoke’s enforcer and the occasional sighting by Order members, he’s always personally thought that Snoke had his unstable apprentice killed. Once, about six months after Ren’s departure, he dared ask about him during an audience with the Supreme Leader; he still remembers Snoke’s blood-chilling smile, the curve of his lips and the gleam in his eyes as he said, _Don’t worry, General. Kylo Ren will not be a problem anymore_.

But Kylo Ren is alive, that’s much is evident, and he’s trembling as he rocks back and forth on his threadbare mattress on the floor, hair a wild mess around his face and eyes like dark pools, deep and wild; and all Hux can think is that he is about to die.

Then Ren raises his head and Hux gets a long look at his face – scarred and pale and utterly terrified – and at the black muzzle around his jaw, and he thinks, _Oh_.

When he’d been a child, growing up on Arkanis, the Commandant had kept hounds. They had been beautiful beasts, large and intelligent and impeccably trained, and devoted above all. Devoted, and affectionate, and loyal. _Steady hands and a little firmness go a long way_ , his father used to say, and Hux doesn’t hold much affection for the old man, but is a fact that no one can commend a subordinate’s allegiance quite like the Commandant does.

There’s barely any light filtering in from the corridor, painting Ren’s skin in hues of black and white. He takes a step inside, small but deliberate, keeping his eyes fixed on Ren’s, never letting his gaze waver. A beacon of security and authority and calm.

“Ren,” he calls out, his voice as steady as his walk. His words don’t matter; it’s the tone that does. Ren blinks, putting Hux into focus. He’s still keening, only slightly stifled by the muzzle, and Hux wonders how _that_ came about. Maybe, he thinks, Snoke got as tired of Ren’s melodramatic tirades as Hux himself has.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, not that Ren seems to be lucid enough to answer. He just needs Ren to hear his voice; the answer is plain enough to see. Ren is wearing a thin, sleeveless tunic with a neck deep enough that Hux can see the constellation of bruises and welts marring his neck and collarbones. Unconsciously, he sucks in a deep breath.

Ren is still lying on the cot when he approaches, curled on his side, but he keeps raising and shifting his upper body the closer Hux gets, as if welcoming the human contact. His torso’s halfway off the mattress, all the weight resting on one elbow, and Hux takes a moment to admire the elegant line of his neck and shoulders before dropping his gaze down to were Ren’s hands are balled into tight fists. He sits down and Ren winces. The noise stops, but Ren doesn’t move away.

Hux suddenly feels very elated.

He raises one hand to Ren’s head and Ren – _whimpers_ , long and deep, and what he can see of his face is screwed up in what Hux assumes to be an overwhelming surge of emotions. Ren always did have problems keeping himself under control. He pets the man’s hair, curious to see if it’s really as soft as he’s always imagined, and Ren looks like he’s about to cry.

“Oh, Ren,” Hux drawls. “You poor beast.” He trails his fingers along those dark curls, making Ren whine low in his throat. “Whatever shall I do with you?”

The promise, in Ren’s eyes. _Anything_.

++

He feels ridiculous, smuggling Kylo Ren aboard his own ship, but he’s certainly not about to let anyone learn of the recovery of this particular asset until he figures what to do with it. Him. Fucking _Ren_ , bruised and shaking and dangerously close to tears, and Hux gives orders not to be destroyed for the rest of the trip, until they’ve arrived and it’s time to go claim his Empire.

In the meanwhile, he has an additional mattress brought up to his quarters, with plenty of covers – Ren always did love his self-indulgences – and sits his newly-acquired stray on the tiled floor of his shower, warm water flowing all around them, more water than he can remember wasting in his life.

Hux undresses him piece by piece, and piece by piece he takes him apart. He takes off Ren’s shirt first, tracing his fingers lightly above all the welts and the cuts and the whip marks adorning his chest and his back, brushes one hand slowly up and down Ren’s arm as he draws him closer.

“Shhh,” he tells Ren, soothingly. Once, he saw a woman take care of a spooked horse. He sweeps Ren’s hair away from where it’s fallen all over his eyes, whispers against his forehead. “Shhh, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Ren. Good boy.”

Ren shudders all over, and he lets out a long soft moan that makes Hux smile in satisfaction and gives rise to the fully unwelcome thought of whatever must have happened to Ren to reduce him to this pathetic, crying thing – but he pushes that thought resolutely aside and, if he shivers, well. He’s getting soaked, after all. That must be it.

He washes Ren’s hair and takes off his trousers. He has no shoes, and his feet are filthy. The muzzle goes off for last, because if Hux’s vague ideas is even half correct, Ren may react strongly to having it removed – but Hux’s hands are steady and his voice is gentler than he himself had known it could be, and Ren trembles and relaxes into his arms, exhaling slowly. His lips are chapped and red and raw and, even after two hours on the floor of Hux’s ‘fresher, huddled together, Ren hasn’t spoken.

He counts that as a plus.                                    

Ren, he learns, does understand everything Hux says, even as overwhelmed as he must be, but he never says anything back – not that Hux does mind. He follows every direction more promptly than Hux could have dreamed, though the fears in his eyes is still there, and has a tendency to throw himself in corners and crannies and nooks, curled up, trying to make his imposing body as small as it could possibly be.

That night Hux has a larger meal than usual brought over to his quarters, and he briefly debates with himself if it’d be worth it to try and make Ren sit down and eat like a civilized human being before deciding that isn’t worth the hassle.

Before deciding, with a thrill, that he doesn’t _want_ to.

As a civilized human being, Kylo Ren was a tremendous annoyance. As Snoke’s compliant little pet, potentially Hux’s… He licks at his upper lip, mind in turmoil. _Potential_ is the key word here, he decides; there’s so much of it. He sits down at his desk, not bothering to take a second chair out, and he catches Ren’s gaze.

The way Ren glides over and kneels down by his chair, resting one cheek against Hux’s thighs is a beautiful, beautiful sight. He feeds Ren morsels from his plate – _like a dog_ , he thinks – and watches with pleasures as Ren accepts them gladly and greedily, pink tongue darting to swipe around Hux’s fingers perhaps a with more enthusiasm than such a thing would require.

When he’s done, he lets Ren rest like this for a little longer, nuzzling happily against Hux’s legs and this is so much _simpler_ , so much better than it used to be. When he’s had enough he shows Ren to the mattress and makes sure he’s well covered and warm before going back to his work – the aftermath of a coup, he’s found, is a messy, messy thing.

It’s not long before he catches a glimpse of Ren with the corner of his eye and he’s panicking, shaking like a leaf. Hux walks over to him and coos and shush, pressing one hand against Ren’s sweat-damp forehead.

“You’re safe, Ren,” he says. “You’re safe. I’ll take care of you.” And he means it, of course; he has every intention of taking excellent care of Ren. His eyes dart to the muzzle he’s left forgotten on his bedside table, and he sees Ren’s gaze darting at it. He whines and Hux hears, _please_.

“Oh, I see how it is,” he smiles down at Ren. “You want a reminder, don’t you pet?”

Ren flushes, and he nods, and Hux stands up and goes to get the muzzle and closes it in the back of Ren’s head with a _click_ , and Ren’s eyes close – beautiful, seraphic. He is at peace.

++

It takes three days until they arrive, three days of Hux never letting Ren out of sight but for the occasional stolen hour, three days of Ren never letting Hux out of physical contact rage, if he can help it. Hux often wondered, _before_ , when looking at Ren in his heavy cowl and layers and mask, if he ever felt anything on his skin but thick black cloth, if he ever missed touch.

It turns out Ren does, and very much. The pet is never more satisfied than when he’s allowed to kneel next to Hux’s chair, nuzzling his often-muzzled head against his hip, or when he’s nestled between Hux’s legs, or curled up against his side when he was sitting against the headboard. The only thing he seems to like better is when Hux is actively touching him, a distract caress against a shoulder or a pat on the head, a brush of fingers against a bruised cheekbone. In such instances, Ren positively _mewls_ , whimpering and sobbing like Hux is giving him the world.

Hux _has_ him, and it’s incredible how short a time it took to warp Ren to his will, to tailor him to Hux’s needs like he did. But Ren is too damaged, too tired, with nowhere to go but the arms of a new master, and some kindness is all it takes to conquer his loyalty.

Hux has always been so careful with his precious resources, and Kylo Ren is no exception to that.

There’s an off-colour joke he makes to himself: if it’d been anyone else, he would have said he had them eating from the palm of his hand, but he quite literally had that with Ren since the very first moment. He laughs at the thought, softly, to himself, and Ren shifts his head so that his unmasked mouth presses against Hux’s palm, tongue darting out to lick at it.

“Good pet,” he coos; and Ren smiles, content.

He only hears him speak once, the first night, when he’s woken up by the sound of Ren crying in his sleep – a nightmare, by the look of it – and goes over to shake him softly by the shoulder,  to slap him on the cheek gently but firmly, to stroke through his hair until he wakes up.

“Ren,” Hux whispers, grip on his shoulder tightening. “Ren, wake up. You’re not there anymore. He’s dead.”

Ren’s eyes open and Hux falls on his knees next to him, leaning to speak into one ear. “Shhh, he’s gone,” he says, mumbling nonsense as he pats at those long curls. “Be a good boy now, go to sleep. He’s not here anymore. You’ve been doing so well, Ren. Hush.”

And that’s when Ren raises one hand and grips at Hux’s wrist, tight enough to hurt. He’ll probably have a bruise in the morning. “Why are you doing this?” Ren asks, his voice some odd mixing of weariness and shame and pure _need_.

Hux’s heart jumps into his throat for a brief moment – this is Kylo Ren he’s been cuddling to, he’s sharply reminded; Kylo Ren who’s cruel and capricious and unstable and now broken on top of it, Kylo Ren who’s a savage beast and he should be put down, and what the hell is Hux thinking he can play at – but Hux didn’t rise to where he is now by getting scared easily.

He keeps at it, talking to Ren in soft tones until he calms down and turns into an incoherent mess again, and of course he doesn’t bother _actually_ answering –  because Ren wouldn’t even understand, half-crazed as he is, and because Hux himself has only a vague idea of what he’s doing, and that idea is too amoral and self-serving to ever be spoken aloud.

But Ren, he remembers, can read minds. Ren must know what he’s thinking of doing with him, _to_ him, how Hux is going to use Ren until he’s all used up and then some. Ren, he suspects, welcomes the thought. There isn’t much left of Kylo Ren to have his own ideas anymore; he’s been shattered so thoroughly that it’d take Hux years to put him back together, if he ever was so inclined.

He’s not. He likes Ren nice and compliant as he is now, staring up at Hux with adoring eyes.

+

On the fifth day after Hux’s been declared the new, undiscussed leader of the First Order, an assassin finds his way into his bedroom as he’s stepping out of the shower. There’s the cold press of a blaster against the bony bump on the back of his neck the moment he walks into the bedroom, and all Hux has time for is a brief assessment of the situation – a flash of rage that he’s about to potentially go out in such an idiotic manner, a mental recall of the hand-to-hand techniques with the higher likelihood of survival – and suddenly he hears a horrible wet _thud_ and something warm splatters against his neck. He whips his head around sharply to see the would-be assassin with her throat and face completely crushed, bleeding pink slime all over his carpet.

He turns back on himself and sees Ren crumpled in the middle of the floor, shoulders shaking, sobbing softly to himself. He rushes to him, delight on his face he didn’t even have to fake. “That was so good, Ren, you were _perfect._ ” Hux kneels down on the floor and takes Ren between his arms, moves him around so that he’s half laying on Hux’s chest, hushes him with soothing noises and warm caresses. There’s tears running from Ren’s eyes, actual tears, and _how touching_ , Hux thinks.

“Ren,” he calls. “ _Kylo_.” Those big dark eyes look almost liquid, bathed in light. They find him, anchoring to Hux like a ship in a storm. “You did so very well, my pet, I’m so proud,” he reassures him. “So well.”

Gradually, Ren’s pants turn into more even breaths, but Hux continues tracing two of his fingers in twisted patters on Ren’s pale skin. A series of eights on his cheekbone, an endless spiral on his sweaty temple, light scratching of nails on his forehead. “You killed her, didn’t you?” he speaks as much to Ren as to himself, marvelling at the sight in front of him. Hux has always appreciated the spectacle of a good death, and this one is particularly beautiful. “She was going to try and kill me, but you got there first. Ren, you’re a gem.”

Ren doesn’t meet his eyes, doesn’t dare too, but he’s flushed and smiling and there’s a low rumble coming off his throat; he looks so pathetically _glad_. “Good boy,” Hux whispers. “I think I will keep you,” he says, and Ren arches in his arm, throwing back his head, and he _whimpers_ , warm wet tongue sliding off his mouth to lick across Hux’s knuckles, the back of his hand. A bit disgusting, Hux thinks, but heartwarming in its own way, pure affection if he’s ever seen it, more than he had ever commanded of a living human being. He can appreciate that.

He brings his free hand up to scratch along Ren’s scalp, above his forehead, on the back of his ears, that sensitive spot along his nape. “Good pet,” he repeats, softly. “So good for me.”

Ren shudders.

+

When Ren is good, Hux lets him sleep in his bed – draped around his body, curled up against his side, like some sort of cross between a puppy and a particularly warm quilt.

This is how it starts: after the assassin debacle, that very night, Hux had locks himself and Ren in his new, luxurious bathroom while a cleaning detail takes care of that body on the floor. He fills the huge clawfoot tub up to the brink with scalding hot water, because Ren had shown himself to be so responsive to these simple pleasures, and he plans on cultivating his pet’s loyalty in all the ways Snoke obviously failed to do – and that is when it hits him, that he should probably offer to give Ren some sort of treat. Positive reinforcement, as it were.

But when he brings it up with Ren, he doesn’t get any answers – not even a sign of the head or a look that could somehow be interpreted as affirmative. He tries a couple more times, but all Hux gets is the tightening of Ren’s hold on his clothes, a fervent shake of the head, the persistent drag of those long, shaky moans. _But of course_ , he realizes. Ren, damaged as he is, wishes for nothing more than company, a physical presence, a gentle reminder of where he belongs.

Well.

Hux is still undressed from his earlier shower, wearing only a loose pair of trousers and that woman’s blood all over his neck and back. He takes them off and gets in, watching the water slowly turn a pale red, lets out a long breath at the newfound feeling of warmth. Ren is watching him, because of course he is, and Hux beckons him over with a crocked finger, taking pleasure in the way Ren goes to sit on his heels at the edge of the tub, one cheek pressed against the white ceramic, subtly moving as closer as he can to Hux without actually touching him, not until he’s told.

“How obedient,” Hux muses, and Ren keens. There’s something so relaxing about all of this, he thinks, tracing the contours of those lush lips with his index finger. He shoves it into the warm heat of Ren’s mouth, down to the fist knuckle, watches it come away glistening. “Would you like to come in?” he asks, and Ren’s answering whine is close to a shriek, so sudden and enthusiastic it makes Hux startle and Ren’s face turn red at his own overeager reaction.

Hux laughs. “How needy, Ren,” he teases, but he reclines back and sits up with his legs spread, lets Ren climb into the tub and sit between his knees. Ren is still dressed in a black tunic and slacks, because Hux didn’t tell him he could take them off. That pleases him. He enjoys the unspoken deference of the gesture, Ren not taking more initiative beyond that Hux allows him, and he does appreciate their difference in their apparels. Being naked at the same time as Ren would put them on something dangerously close to equal footing; this way, he will have the pleasure to see Ren dragged down by water-heavy clothes, making a mess all over the floor.

He lays Ren’s head to rest on his collarbone, resuming his exploration of that pliant mouth, thrusting two fingers in and out at varying speed, just to see what happens. Ren seems to like it, curling his tongue and licking between them up to his knuckles, letting out hearty little moans and nestling his head against Hux’s chest, soaking happily in that water red with blood.

“That’s it,” he says. “I’m here for you. Kylo, you did so, so well. _Good dog_.”

When Ren is good, Hux lets him sleep in his bed, and that is quite often, as one might expect. Nowadays, Ren is always very, very good.

++

One morning Hux wakes up with Kylo Ren’s red mouth stretched around his cock.

It is unexpected, but not a complete surprise. It has been coming for a while, clear in the way Ren’s physical affection has become more and more overt, how his bright wide eyes always seems to follow Hux wherever he goes, how Ren’s taken to dashing to follow his every command almost before he’s finished speaking, eager and transparent in his need to please.

And, when he wakes up in the morning, it is to Ren’s gaze drinking him in, like he can never have enough.

There’s also one more thing: Hux has decided early on that he is not going to shy away from Ren’s gaze. Doing so, he told himself, would be tantamount to recognizing him as something akin to an equal – and that Ren is not, they’ve established. Hux has taken to calling him _dog_ and Ren is certainly that. He whines and arches and takes Hux’s fingers greedily into his mouth, lavishes his hands with his tongue; Hux will call him what he’s become and Ren fucking _loves_ it, because that is all there is to him, anymore.

A master should not be ashamed of what his pet can see, Hux decides – and if he sometimes wakes up hard pressed against Ren’s warm form, that is just a natural body reaction. And if he feels the urge to jerk off, as  sometimes he does, he’s not going to run away from his own bedroom, hiding in the shower like a mortified schoolboy. Rather, he takes himself in hand lying between his obscenely expensive sheets, and doesn’t bother to hide any noise he happens to make.

Through all of it, he can feel the weight of Ren’s stare, watching.

Ren is always looking at him, like he’s the centre of his whole world, and Hux has every intention of encouraging that as much as he can.

When Ren watches him, his eyes are hungry. Hux knows this, and Hux knows Ren wants him in that way, like he wants him in every way he can have him; but Hux hasn’t yet decided what to do about that, and he does nothing.

He waits.

Until that one day, 0700 on the dot, warm wetness around him and Ren’s tongue lapping at the head of his cock like he’s dying of thirst. Hux’s first thought, after he realizes what is happening, is that it _does_ feel nice – he’s been wondering about it, of course he has – though that may have something to do with how long it’s been and Ren’s eagerness rather than any technique he may have. His second thought is that Ren must really, really want him, to dare do this without being told, to violate their unspoken rules that gives Ren no autonomy beyond that which Hux allows.

 _Interesting_ , he decides, and he files all of that for later, because he’s starting to find the situation somewhat distracting. Ren may not be experienced but he’s certainly enthusiastic – he’s got his tongue swirling all around him in nonsensical patterns, hands deftly busy stroking what he can’t take yet, and occasionally he’d slide off Hux’s cock to press kittenish wet kisses all along his shaft. So dedicated to giving pleasure, just as Hux had expected he would be.

He looks down to where Ren’s dark head is busy between his thighs and the sight of it makes something coil low in his belly, watching with his own eyes as his cock slips out of that pretty, pretty mouth. The barest hint of teeth is scrapping at his tip, just enough to make him twitch, and Ren looks up at that with a sort of mischievous spark in his eyes Hux cannot remember seeing ever before. One of Ren’s hands slips down to tease his balls, and the other grasps him more firmly as Ren lowers his head and licks one long wet stripe along the underside of Hux’s cock. He does it very deliberately, never breaking eye contact, and Hux has to bite down on his lip to suppress a moan and he thinks, _No, we can’t have that_.

He sits up on the mattress briskly enough to sort of startle Ren, who stops drooling all over his prick for the three seconds necessary for Hux to reach down with one outstretched arm, to plant his hand firmly among Ren’s curls and _tug_.

“Never,” he tells Ren. “ _Ever_. Do that again without my express permission.”

He gives another tug, with more force this time, tightening his hold on Ren’s hair. “Am I clear?” He can feel him trying to nod; but he can’t, Hux wouldn’t let him go a millimetre.

“Good,” he says, and then he’s shifting farther up the bed until his back’s touching the headboard, dragging Ren with him by the hair. “Honestly, Ren,” Hux tells him. “You could at least have asked. So bloody _needy_.”

Through all of that Ren is making little keening noises, and his lips are still glistening with spit from cocksucking. A most becoming look, Hux decides, feeling feral. “Lay your arms down on the bed,” he instruct Ren. “Spread out.”

Ren does as he’s told, and Hux rewards him with a smile that’s almost kind. He brings his free hand up to stroke gently at Ren’s jaw, his throat, his collarbone. “Good boy,” he says, and then he manoeuvres his own legs so that he’s got his thighs above Ren’s outstretched arms, effectively preventing him from moving. Ren is flat on his stomach and his head is hovering mere inches above Hux’s crotch, held there by the grip in his hair. He’s got no way to move his upper body; when Hux starts fucking his mouth in earnest, he’s going to choke.

Hux is going to enjoy that.

“Mind your teeth,” he warns Ren, and then tugs his head down sharply, smiling in satisfaction at the way Ren’s eyes bulge and he gags around the cock in his throat, gasping and wheezing. Hux doesn’t relent, keeps using his pet’s mouth as he sees fit, and Ren can only _take it_ , gurgling and moaning and whimpering, his useless arms trashing in place, that wicked tongue stroking and flickering at every inch of flesh it can reach.

Hux laughs at that. _So greedy for it_ , he thinks, _even now_. He grips at Ren’s hair as he pulls his head back, and lets his other hand wander down the expanse of Ren’s taut neck, admiring the tensing of muscles under his fingers.

“Is that what you wanted?” he teases cruelly, and in response he gets a low, breathy groan that makes his cock twitch and his knuckles whiten around Ren’s curls. He laughs again. “You filthy _animal_.” Ren moans softly, eyes half-lidded, blissful.

He can’t take this for much longer, Hux realizes, and he brings Ren’s head back down to where he needs him to be. He relaxes his hold somewhat so he can better enjoy Ren’s _delight_ at being allowed some more initiative, the way he shows his thanks by bobbing his head up and down Hux’s cock with jerky little thrusts, lapping and sucking and kissing all along the shaft like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. _What a pathetic, needy beast_ , Hux thinks, shivering at the sound of those low little whines, so desperate, so eager. It’s those sound that bring him over the edge, and he holds Ren’s mouth firmly into place as he does, relishing the way his face goes red and his eyes start to water as he chokes on come and spit and whatever is left of his pride.

Hux doesn’t let him pull away for a long time after he’s finished, enjoying the workings of that white throat as he gulps and gasps and swallows. Ren has made a mess – nothing surprising here, both because of the position, and because it’s _Ren_ – and so Hux drags his head up a couple inches only, to hover over his come-splattered crotch and belly, and he looks pointedly down at him until Ren averts his eyes and sets about cleaning up his mess, lapping lightly at Hux’s stomach with his tongue. Ren is flushing, he notices – in fact, Ren seems to go red in the face an awful lot for a creature so depraved. He finds he likes that a great deal.

Surprisingly, Ren is quick and efficient at what he does, finishing up by laying an open-mouthed, lingering kiss at the root of Hux’s cock, and Hux allows himself to hum in satisfaction at the sight. He disentangles his legs from over Ren’s arms and drags him up to have a good look at his face – Ren is panting, he notices, and his mouth is a _mess_ , red and obscenely wet, a white smattering of come on his chin. For a split second, Hux entertains the idea of licking it off – it’d be _filthy_ , he knows, and it’d be worth to feel in the gasp in Ren’s breath when Hux leans in as if to kiss him and then doesn’t.

In the end, he merely cleans it up with the index finger of his free hand and offers his finger to Ren to lick up, like an offering. Ren closes his eyes as he sucks on Hux’s finger, and he lets his thumb brush lightly over the contours of his lips. “That was quite satisfactory,” he tells Ren. The grip on his nape tightens. “But don’t ever presume again.”

And then he brings his own mouth down to Ren’s neck, biting at the soft skin just above his shoulder, nipping and sucking and marking. He lays Ren flat on the bed so that he’s above him, his mouth still working on that white collarbone, and he wonders how much effort it’d take for purple bruises to bloom over the skin like spring blossoms. Hux feels a hesitant touch over his hips and bites down over Ren’s clavicle, sharply. “Hands on the bed,” he says, and a muffled cry is all he gets in response. He slides one of his legs between Ren’s thighs, grinding down purposefully, and laughs from where he’s busy soothing a teeth mark with his tongue at the way Ren ruts back against him, frenetic and crazy with need.

“You have no self-control,” he tells Ren, leaving out the part where he’s rather enjoying that. “You _dog_ ,” he says, and Ren whines and arches into the bed, chest heaving. He’s almost there, Hux can tell, and when he feels Ren’s thighs twitch and spasm more and more erratically under his weight he’s quick to disentangle himself, getting up and taking in the pitiful spectacle Ren makes like that, sweaty and painting and horribly disappointed.

 _Well, too bad_ , Hux thinks to himself, and smiles down at the creature on his bed. “I trust you’re going to remember your lesson,” he tells him, and then goes get started with his day.

When he happens to return to his bedroom, hours later, he sees Ren exactly where he’s left him, flat on his back between soiled sheets with his head thrown back to expose a bruised throat, arms spread away from his body, his palms flat against the mattress.

Hux looks at him, and he can’t help but thinking that things are turning out to be even better than he could possibly have imagined.

++

In the two months since Snoke’s death, Ren has been recovering steadily. His physical injuries have healed, he’s no longer as skittish as he was, no longer the pathetic shell of a _thing_ Hux found in that cell. At the same time, Ren has shown no inclination of reverting to the man Hux remembered and despised; in fact he hardly behaves like a man at all.

Hux has grown familiar with their routine, even comfortable – he’s come to enjoy Ren’s constant touches and his need to please, he’s got used to clasping that black muzzle on Ren’s mouth when he starts acting nervous, trailing his fingers through those dark strands as a way to wind down in the evenings. He’s become fond of his new pet, Hux grudgingly admits to himself, and no longer as worried as he used to be that one day Ren would come back to himself and kill him in a fit of misplaced anger and bruised pride.

What truly does convince him, though, is hearing the words from Ren’s own lips, on the night before he’s due to depart for his first off-system journey since the one to the Supreme Leader’s planet. Ren may be better but Hux is not about to show him off in public quite yet, so he’s staying; and Hux tells himself he’s merely concerned that all his hard work training Ren to his expectation will come undone while he’s away, rather than worried about how Ren will fare without the firm hand he’s shown he needs.

Of course, Hux is not a sentimental man. The former remains his main concern – but he can admit that Ren’s well-being is of interest to him, too. Whatever else he is, Ren remains a formidable weapon.

He spends his last night before his departure with half a bottle of his favourite brandy, which he enjoys in the privacy of his room, sitting on a comfortable armchair – and Ren on top of him, straddling his lap and draped all over him like a blanket, forehead resting against Hux’s shoulder and warm breath ghosting just over his heart. The liquor is rich and just sweet enough, just the perfect drink to warm him up and loosen his tongue just a bit more than usual, and he sometimes allows Ren a small sip from his glass, occasionally flickering his thumb to catch any stray drops that may fall and feed them right back into Ren’s waiting mouth.

It’s all quite relaxing, he thinks. Domestic, even.

“You know I’m leaving in the morning,” he tells Ren. These days, he talks to Ren an awful lot; it may have something to do with his own fondness for monologues, or perhaps it’s the way Ren always does as he’s told, how he never speaks back. Weeks later, and Ren’s protracted, submissive silences are still his favourite part of this entirely bizarre situation.

“I’d very much prefer if you didn’t burn the place down when I’m gone,” Hux says – a sentence carefully worded, drafted and redrafted in his mind until it contains just the right proportion of calculated disinterest, reluctant concern and genuine warning. All he gets in response is a snort, sharp exhale of air hot against his skin. He swats Ren on the back of his head, taking another sip from his glass.

“I’m waiting, Ren,” he says. “I’ll need an actual answer from you this time,” he sneers, viciously, salt into an open wound. “Unless you can’t remember how it’s done.”

“Yes,” Ren blurts out, too sudden, too harshly. That Kylo Ren hasn’t told him to fuck off for that, Hux considers, is the true evidence of how much power he now yields over him. “I _know_ how,” Ren continues, whiny and bratty just like the Ren of old, and Hux cannot see his face but he’s sure he must be pouting.

He grabs Ren’s chin with his free hand, firmly, perhaps with more strength than is strictly necessary. “Mind your cheek, _dog_ ,” he says, lightly, the tone at odds with the way his fingers are pressing down against the delicate meat just above Ren jaw. In his hand he feels Ren shift, whimper, deflate.

“I know,” Ren repeats. “I can, it just…” he presses his head against Hux’s shoulder with renewed strength, nuzzling there,  undoubtedly leaving wet tearstains all over Hux’s fine dressing gown. “He didn’t want me to, and.” Ren is saying, and Hux’s grip turns gentler, caressing all over his jaw and neck, kneading gently at Ren’s nape.

“It hurt,” he says; a long, broken sob.

Hux brings his head down, leans in to whispers into Ren’s ear. “Hush,” he says. “That’s over, now. I’m not going to hurt you.”

 _Unless you deserve it_ , the words spark into his mind, fierce and depraved, but he doesn’t voice it – it hardly seems the right moment, he thinks; but it doesn’t matter, because Ren sucks in a sudden breath and turns his head so that he’s dragging his lips across Hux’s palm, and Hux knows he’s plucked the thought right from his head.

Ren busies himself like that for a while, catching the tips of Hux’s fingers between his lips and pressing slick, open-mouthed kisses on his palm and the underside of his thumb and the pulse point on his wrist. He keens and hums softly to himself as he kisses and licks his way up to the inside of Hux’s elbow, and Hux takes another sip of his brandy, watching the amber-coloured liquid twirl inside the glass.

“Out with it.” By now, he knows all of Ren’s tells, and it’s obvious he’s trying to work up enough of his courage to say something – or waiting for Hux to guess it, more likely; these days, Ren truly is not fond of talking. But Hux is tired and tipsy, and he has no patience for games.

“I’m not up for playing riddles tonight, Ren,” he tells him. “Just _ask_.”

Ren, predictably, reddens; he seems to fold back on himself, looking anywhere but at Hux as he spits it out. “You’re coming back,” he mumbles, and it’s not phrased as a question but certainly carries all the doubt of one. “Right?” he dares, then, to peek up at Hux from under his fringes, and Hux doesn’t bother trying to hide his slow, indulgent smile.

“Yes,” he says – promises, really. It is the simplest of half a hundred retorts he could have possibly come up with, some downright nasty, some teasing, some even warm. As if he’d ever let his life’s work go to waste and pull a disappearing act just to spite Kylo Ren, who’s apparently just as self-centred and over-dramatic as he ever was.

Hux’s got half a mind to scold him on his presumption, but that single word has been enough to leave Ren completely boneless, to make him fall back again resting on Hux’s chest like a puppet with its strings cut, an overwhelmed mess of hope and affection and gratitude, and that’s an even more rewarding sight. What he does then instead is bring his glass up to Ren’s mouth and offer him a sip, watch the white column of his throat moves as he swallows. “Good boy,” he coos at Ren, and it’s got nothing to do with the drinking and all to do with everything else. “Always so prompt,” he whispers into his ear. “I did tell you I would keep you, didn’t I?”

Ren whimpers low in appreciation, and Hux finishes what is left of his glass in one long sip, deciding that’s enough brandy for the night. He threads one hand through Ren’s hair, absent-mindedly, and he’s rewarded with a full body shiver and a flicker of Ren’s long lashes against his throat.

They remain like that as the evening grows late and Hux’s eyelids start getting heavier, and he’s about to get his oversized pet off him so he can get up when Ren speaks up one last time, a low mumble from where he’s lazily sucking along Hux’s neck.

“Hux?” he calls out, soft and hesitant, sounding so much younger than his age. Hux, for his part, offers a muffled sound of assent and wonders what this is all about.

“Will you…” Ren starts, then trails off. Hux offers an encouraging pat to his head to make him speak faster; he does appreciate _some_ initiative, as long as it doesn’t go much further, but he’s suddenly tired and wants to go to sleep.

A jerky nod of Ren’s head is all the warning he gets that he’s found his courage before the words are out, sudden and indelible.

“Are you my new master now?” Ren asks, so needy and _desperate_ , and –

This is the sort of beast Snoke turned him into, Hux has noted: a man who is afraid of the sound of his own voice, a creature who enjoys being treated like an animal, a wayward pet who needs to be owned. An eager partaker in his own degradation. All of that, Hux can deliver – and, truly, Ren’s misfortune is his own luck. Had Ren been whole, he would have had to kill him.

“Yes,” Hux answers. “Kylo. I believe I am.”

And, in that moment, he knows that he’s won.

++

Ren’s missed him while he was away, that much is obvious.

It has only been a few days, but for Ren, who looks at Hux like he’s the foundation of his entire universe, it must have been excruciating – _As it should be_ , Hux thinks.

On the morning of his return, Hux walks into his apartment to find Ren existing his special room, the one Hux had stripped bare of all furniture then equipped according to Ren’s specification once he realized that Ren getting his Force abilities back under control was in everyone’s best interests, and also that he wouldn’t suffer having the rest of his quarters destroyed while he waited. These days Ren is coiled rage, ready to burst at any moment if directed and meekly sit back in a corner when he’s not needed anymore, and Hux requires both facets to be honed to perfection.

Ren must have sensed him entering because he’s quick to appear, wet hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and stripped down to an extremely thin tunic and form-fitting slacks – which Hux does appreciate, in a purely aesthetical sense, but it’s the _look_ on Ren’s face that has him grinning smugly to himself, awe and adoration and wonder as raw as he’s ever seen them.

Ren makes to slide over but Hux halts him, mid-step. “I didn’t say you could touch me, pet,” he calls out, because he knows he will be obeyed, to see the way Ren’s muscles ripple under the skin as he goes completely still – just as he’s been ordered.

“Stay over there, don’t move,” Hux commands; and then turns away and goes tending to his ever-growing pile of work, busy as always. If killing Snoke has brought about almost no fallout, replacing the chaotic mess the New Republic had descended into with a more fitting government system is proving itself to be a much more complex affair. Not that Hux minds; he’s has always thrived when confronted with challenges, and he so enjoys his planning and strategy meetings.

Although, he finds, no challenge compares to the thrill of pleasure he feels upon in returning, later in the afternoon, to see that Ren has indeed listened and is waiting in that exact same sport, wearing those same too-thin clothes. He’s crouching on the floor rather than on his feet, not that Hux had been expecting anything different – the strongest devotion can nothing against the limit of the human body, and it _has_ been hours, after all – and his half-lidded gaze is hazy and wanting.

Ren looks so very nice like this, Hux decides, taken by a sudden burst of tenderness. The next time he goes off-planet he must remember to bring him back a little gift, perhaps some exotic fruit or a similar sort of treat. Ren looks like the kind who would enjoy something sweet.

Hux walks up to him, slowly, kneels down on the soft plush carpet next to Ren’s curled up form. He brings one hand up as if to touch him, lets it hover right above Ren’s cheek, almost but not quite, drinking in the soft noises Ren makes as he wordlessly begs.

“And how are we today, my pet?” he asks, finally giving Ren what he wants and caressing his head, watching him moan as he arches into it. Ren looks more out of sorts that he usually does, which Hux imagines is to be expected – after a week left to his own devices, Ren must be overwhelmed with the weight of it; he never did well without a guiding hand. Lucky for Ren, then, that Hux is here to take the burden of choice away from him.

Hux makes a show of turning his head, slowly, so that his gaze falls directly on that ugly contraption he found Ren in, now laying in plain sight on a low table. Ren likes to wear it whenever he’s feeling too upset – he _needs_ to, Hux suspects, the muzzle more of a crutch than his silly mask ever was – but he is sure Ren hasn’t worn it at all while Hux was away. They have a rule, now, that only Hux is going to put it on; Ren is only allowed to ask. Sometimes, Hux may even take the initiative, if he’s tired of Ren slobbering all over him but mostly because he can; some other times he will make Ren beg for hours, in broken breaths and quiet sobs.

Ren’s stare follows his, eyes dazed and glassy. “Go get it,” Hux tells him, then stops him with a hand on his shoulders the moment he starts to rise.

“Don’t walk,” he says. “Crawl.”

Ren’s tongue comes out to dart at his lips, face flushed in shame and want, and he hastens to obey, dragging himself across the room as Hux takes in the sight of those muscled shoulders and legs, the perfect swell of his ass. He seats himself at his desk and waits for Ren to crawl over, rewards him for his promptness with more light touches as he snaps the muzzle shut. “Good boy,” he whispers, tracing the arc of Ren’s cheekbone as he position Ren’s head to rest in his lap. “I’m here now,” he says, soothingly. “Relax.”

The day after, Ren informs him that he’s ready.

It happens late at night, when Hux is sitting on his bed going over fleet reports. That is a new habit; he never used to read in bed before, but he’s taken to do so more and more since acquiring Ren, since he’s found he rather enjoys the warmth of a large body curled against his own. It is, usually, soothing. Tonight, going over reports of unrest and disturbances in some insignificant asteroid in the Mid-Rim, he’s feeling anything but calm.

Next to him, Ren stiffens all of a sudden in that way he does when he is about to speak –when he knows Hux will never guess what is on his mind and he has to say it out loud, but can’t quite bring himself to it. Hux waits, and counts. One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats.

“I could – I could take care of that,” Ren mumbles, finally, breathing his words against Hux’s hip. “If you’d like.”

Hux strokes absent-mindedly at Ren’s hair. “Take care of _what_ , Kylo?”

A pause. Then… “I could kill them,” Ren says. “For you.”

Hux’s hand, nestled in Ren’s hair, goes suddenly very, very still. “You would,” he repeats. It is, deliberately, not a question. His voice is very flat, with no space for surprise, or gratitude, or any such sort; it is not his place to marvel at what Ren is offering, he merely _takes_ , as it’s his right.

“I would,” Ren repeats, fervently, feverishly. “I would, I…”

“Come up here,” Hux orders, hating that he cannot see his face, and Ren obeys, sitting up so that Hux can grasp his head between his hands, stare directly into those dark pools. Ren’s eyes are shining, he notices, with wetness and purpose.

“You would kill my enemies for me,” Hux says, liking the way the words taste on his tongue. Ren nods, panting heavily, eyes wild. “You beautiful boy,” Hux whispers, enjoying the way Ren seems to go dizzy with praise, the way he shivers – a babbling, incoherent mess.

“I did it, I used to,” he says. He looks like he desperately wants to look away, cannot bear to hold the scrutiny of Hux’s gaze anymore; but he knows that would displease his master, so he doesn’t. “I did that for Snoke, he set me –” Ren is stumbling on his own words, so eager he is to spit them out, to offer himself.

“I was his _dog_ ,” he fumbles out. “He told me to attack and I _went_ –”

 _To destroy his enemies_ , Hux’s minds fills out what Ren cannot say. And when Snoke had no need of Ren he’d set him aside, to that hole of a cell Hux found him in, to wait until he was unleashed once again. Locked up in the darkness with his own resentment, because Snoke had given up all attempts of controlling him any other way.

 _What a fool_.

He keeps holding Ren’s head between his hands, lightly brushing two long parallel lines with his thumbs across Ren’s lids. Ren’s eyes close, and he lets out one long, ragged breath. “Shhh,” Hux soothes. “You’re mine now,” he says – and it’s more a threat than anything else, truly, but Ren seems to take it as some sort of pledge and he leans in, swaying slightly, and whimpers deep in his throat.

“Let me do it for you,” Ren begs. “Please.”

“Of course,” Hux concedes. “I’d like that very much,” he tells Ren; and Ren smiles like he’s just won something beautiful.

That is enough to turn his mediocre evening into one of the best he’s had in a while, the promise of Ren’s immense might at his disposal, that endless potential at his fingertips. Yes, Hux thinks to himself, he absolutely must reward Ren for this, this amazing gift he just received. And of course he’d known that he would command such a power, eventually– that is the whole reason why he took Ren in, after all, knowing first-hand how powerful he can be – but it’s quite a different thing to know it for sure, to have it in the palm of his hands.

“You’d kill for me,” Hux repeats, almost to himself, his only allowance to his own incredulity. A master should show himself in control at all times, but if there ever was a moment to show emotion this is it. All of his plans can start in earnest now; this is truly the first day of the rest of his life.

“You’d do anything for me,” he adds, redundant though it may be, just to feel the weight of the words on his lips.

Sobbing, shaking, Ren nods.

++

Slowly, gradually, more and more reports of Kylo Ren’s mysterious reappearance start coming in; the occasional oddity turning into a trickle that turns into a flow. Most people are confused, some sceptical, everyone vaguely terrified – Hux’s own command staff included. He certainly doesn’t tell any of them that he’s been the one to provide Ren the Kyber crystal he needed to build his new saber, or the new mask he now wears, just as ugly as the old one. Truth be told, Ren doesn’t seem much fond of the idea of wearing the mask again, which Hux supposes reminds him too much of Snoke, but he put his foot down.

He doesn’t want Ren to show his face to anyone else.

He sends Ren off to faraway planets, to carry out the Order’s will – Hux’s will, truly, for the two are one and the same – to do Hux’s bidding and strike where Hux points, and then disappear.

To his men, Hux tells he doesn’t know anything about what Kylo Ren is up to, but he does appreciate how Ren’s objectives seems to coincide with the line he deemed best for the order. He suggests sending envoys, to bring Ren back into the fold, and he gets stared at like he’s insane before they all scramble to obey.

He wants to laugh. _If only they knew_.

Weeks pass.

 _His_ – whatever it is – with Ren has stabilized. Among his qualities Hux counts a lack of modesty, but he is objective and analytical enough to know that, when he notices that Ren’s dedication, his _loyalty_ , are only increasing from one day to the next, it is the truth.

Hux has little rules that he enjoys watching Ren scrambling to follow. One of the rules: when Ren wants to be fucked, when he _needs_ it, so deep in his bones that he can’t think of anything but, he needs to ask.

It is not something that comes easy to him, not anymore, but Hux makes him _ask_ every single time, knowing very well the state of mind speaking out loud puts Ren into, and sometimes it’s hours before he gives him what he wants. He tells Ren that, despite his questionable moral character, Hux is not quite depraved enough to bed a beast on a muzzle. That is one of the reasons, but not the only one; and a fairly minor one at that. The true reason is, mostly,  that he likes to hear Ren beg for it.

As a matter of fact, that doesn’t happen very often. Most of the times, Ren is content enough to please him in other ways, and Hux doesn’t really need to take Ren to bed when he can just shove his cock down his throat when he’s kneeling at Hux’s feet, feed it to him inch by inch so Ren can make himself useful in exchange for the comfort he takes this way. This almost always happens while Hux is working; if he happens to have his hands on some document detailing Kylo Ren’s recent activities, he’d amuse himself by reading it out loud – to the man in question, folded neatly between his legs, mouth stuffed full of cock.

Once, as a joke, he mentions having Ren’s mask refitted with a hole over the mouth for that express purpose, perhaps large enough for a nice ring gag to fit through it, and the image is enough that Ren almost comes right away. Hux never gets around to doing it – he despises that mask far too much and, lately, so does Ren – but his lewd little fantasy is enough to give him inspiration for the thing he actually ends up outfitting Ren with: a half-inch thick, dull black metal collar.

“Only sensible,” He says, presenting it to Ren, “for a wild, unruly little thing like you, pet. So that you don’t wander off.”

Ren’s pupils are suddenly very, very wide.

“Do go on,” Hux tells him, just barely loud enough to be heard over Ren’s short, uneven breaths. “Put it on if you like.”

Ren seems to like it quite a lot; he’s gulping as he does it, hands shaking, and Hux thinks he looks like he may cry. He waits until Ren’s hands have fastened the collar before he brings his own to Ren’s neck, tracing the cold metal with his fingertips. The sides of his hands brush against Ren’s, just barely, and this feels like the most intimate touch they’ve ever shared.

Ren looks down at where one of Hux’s finger has slipped under the collar, frowns, then clear his throats. “It’s a bit loose,” he says, voice hoarse from more than lack of use.

“Yes, well,” Hux concedes, admiring the way the slightly lax fit causes the band of metal to rest at the base of Ren’s neck instead of wrapped tightly around it. That’s bound to be annoying, he thinks. Not easy to ignore.

“I want you to remember it’s there,” he says, then grabs one of Ren’s fingers to circle around the small ring that’s right in the front of the collar, just above the hollow between Ren’s collarbones. “Now, this ring,” he tells Ren. “One could hook something else here,” he continues, and Ren’s eyes are so big and dark in his pale face.

“A leash,” Hux leans down to whispers into his ear. “A chain.”

Ren lets out a loud, shaky moan.

“If you’re good,” he tells him. “Or, I suppose, if you are very bad. Though I would advise against that, personally.”

He stares down into those misty, lust-dazzled eyes. “There’s something I need you to do for me, now,” Hux says.

Ren nods. Doesn’t he always?

Not much later, Hux receives a message. One of the young officers that had been sent to the Outer Rim – to some desolated, forgotten planet with the only dubious merit of having, perhaps, been visited by Kylo Ren – has finally some actual news. She reports that Ren is indeed alive, though nobody knows where he’d disappeared to, and not adverse to meeting with Hux. She looks suitably terrified the entire time of her holocall, which Hux appreciates; but not as much as he does appreciate the whispered warnings of one of his Colonels that he should be careful around Ren, his life is obviously too important to the Order to risk – _and why won’t you take a larger escort, sir?_

Gracefully, Hux accepts half a division of Troopers as escort, and a sizeable part of his command staff. He does need witnesses, after all, and no one gossips as much like soldiers do.

This is what happens: Hux does indeed meet with Kylo Ren at the arranged place and time, the Knight looming large and imposing and utterly fearsome in his black garbs, and Hux says something – nobody quite catches what – and Ren slides down to his knees in front of him, for all the galaxy to see.

They exchange words. Most suspects Ren is swearing fealty there and then, unaware that he’s been doing as much – still on his knees, in a different room – every night and every day for weeks and weeks now. They imagine Ren must be setting terms, and idea that would be so very laughable to both parties involved. They see Hux’s hand on Ren’s masked head, on his shoulder, and they assume he must be graciously accepting what he’s offered, even though there isn’t a gracious bone in Hux’s body and all he’s muttering is a steady stream of filth intersected with degrading praise – how well Ren has been doing, what a good dog he is, how proud he’s made his master. And all the ways Hux is going to use him now, because he knows he only has to command and Ren will deliver.

Ren will always deliver.

++

This day, Hux thinks, surrounded by frenzied whispers and incredulous looks and sheer awe, is his consecration.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: past abuse, brainwashing, fucked-up pet play. Hux takes advantage of Kylo’s post-abuse fucked up mental state to mould him to his needs. Nothing safe or sane about it and there’s consent issues like whoah, but they’re kind of happy in their own fucked up way. Prompt [here](https://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/3961.html?thread=9729401#cmt9729401). 
> 
> ++A big thanks to all the lovely humans who left comments on the kinkmeme thread and helped me to turn this giant beacon of mindfuck into something readable. Shoutout to OP, The Chef AU™ and The Crotchless Lingerie Debacle.
> 
> ++This actually turned out a lot lighter than I meant it to be. Make of that what you will.
> 
> ++I’m on tumblr @[darthrey](http://kyhlos.tumblr.com/), come talk to me about space dates and murder fluff.


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